


ctrl+z

by mirokkuma



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/mirokkuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kame attempts to IM Jin while they're apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ctrl+z

**Author's Note:**

> If anything, based more on Jin's hiatus than their current situation.

“Jin,” Kazuya croaks, voice hoarse, his throat audibly tense. “Jin, please..?” He trails off with a hint of optimism, hoping that he’ll be interrupted, his plea ended for him.

But Jin is shaking his head, pixels lighting and fading from the slate grey to pure black of his hair, the dull tint of his skin, and each and every one of them _hurts._

“Ji--” Lurching towards his computer as though he could somehow prevent the large hand closing in

on the lens, Kazuya watches the dismal, glassy eyed look Jin averts from the webcam, until what had been his lover is just an empty window on the screen; an error message that he is all too quick to close.

“We can figure this out, Jin. We don’t have to talk, just typing is fine.” Kazuya’s fingers shakily clatter over the keys; he barely registers that he is thinking out loud. Too much coffee, too little sleep, and the man he loves being on the other side of the world and obviously unhappy contribute to the missed keys and spelling mistakes he reads back in his own message.

‘i feel ill.’ Jin's response comes after a pause, and Kazuya’s disregard for the glow of sunrise slowly but surely lighting up his room increases. ‘i’ve felt like this for too long. i hate it kazu’ his lover continues, and screw the time difference. Kazuya takes another resolute sip of his coffee; he doesn’t care if at 6am he is still sitting here.  
“What’s wrong?” He asks.  
 **(05:24:05):** “Have you seen anyone about it?”  
 **(05:24:27):** “Let me see you again, please, Jin.”  
 **(05:25:02):** “I’m worried about you.”  
 **(05:25:31):** “Do your friends know?”  
 **(05:26:12):** “Jin, please?”

It isn’t until Kazuya is too anxious for a response that he gives Jin the time to take one of the leads he has given, restlessly nudging his coffee cup back and forth with soft scrapes across the desk as he waits for Jin’s broken and faltering replies.

 **(05:28:39):** ‘no’  
 **(05:29:04):** ‘they know. i’ve felt like this for weeks’

 **(05:31:13):** ‘why are you awake at this time talking to me with the schedule you have anyway?’ Jin asks, and Kazuya has stared at the words for a good twenty seconds before anything other than white noise comes into his head.

“I’m up at this time because I’m worried about you. I love you, Jin, don’t ever forget that.” Hesitating to add italics (Jin never bothers with any sort of formatting, but Kazuya finds that his words lack emphasis without), Kazuya takes a deep breath before hitting send.  
Staring with tired, tired eyes at the flickering line of text telling him that Jin is responding, Kazuya wrinkles his nose as the taste of fabric conditioner replaces stale coffee, but is unrelenting in picking at the hem of his shirt sleeve with his teeth for petty distraction.

When they are no more than a train journey and a tough schedule apart, Kazuya has found nothing to complain about in communicating through the distance. The numerous saved conversations and well played voice mails, he can see now, are things he appreciates in addition, not as a replacement. The uncertainty swirling in the pit of his stomach, raking his nerves and cruelly intensified by his weary state almost makes Kazuya avert his eyes from their current conversation and delve into the folder, well hidden, that contains four years worth of what he's dutifuly labeled 'work stuff'.  
All titled as uninspiringly as possible, not even Jin knows that Kazuya's file of schedules and past interviews due to be mailed to magazines are infact his most treasured conversations. Four years of moving from messenger to messenger, phone mails, obscure IM's Jin has sent at 5am that still to this day make Kazuya's heart swell with the same elation as the day he had received them.  


Jin would laugh at him; throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut, say that it was nothing like

Kame to do something like this, if he knew.

Far too little for how long he has been typing, Jin finally sends ‘gtg’, and Kazuya waits. He downs the pool of coffee left at the bottom of his cup and waits, for an ‘i know <3’, an ‘i love you too’ (‘ilu2’ would have sufficed right now). He waits for any sign that this could actually be ok, that they haven’t succumbed to the strain of distance and illness and the world that was and always has been against them.

The light beside Jin’s screen name - something that vaguely resembles one of their lyric writers pen names, that all of Jin’s friends have found amusing but Kazuya has yet to understand (but of course he feigns indifference to this) - flicks to grey before Kazuya even notices, a final time stamp nudging up their conversation and reminding him of just how damned late he is awake.

Slowly, the dull realization of what has happened sinks in while Kazuya is closing windows, signing out of messengers he has created solely for talking to Jin on, tugging at the tangled sections of his hair with the impatience of someone who needs as many distractions as they can get. Too impatient for menus and updates, Kazuya blearily waits for his computer to cut out as he holds down the power key with malicious strength, and on its final sigh he falls, stiff, from the chair to land on his unmade bed.

Exhausted, Kazuya finally falls unconscious, fully dressed on the cold sheets at a time shockingly

close to 6am. Streaks of sunlight slowly creep over his aching body, yet another hectic day approaching.

Kazuya wakes at 7:12am. He leaves for work within half an hour, wearing borrowed jewelry belonging to his lover and a painfully empty smile.

This is the worst day of his life.


End file.
